


Three times Bruce knocked on Death’s door and one time Death returned the favor.

by GayTRex



Series: 99 Problems and Clark Kent is all of them. [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Alfred is a Papa bear, Bruce is a little grumpy, Bruce is a little paranoid... but with reason, Clark is a puppy, Clark only wants to do the right thing, Is some sort of hating love, Kind of AU kind of not?, M/M, Spoilers for BvS (kinda), SuperBat, Things change in the middle of the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayTRex/pseuds/GayTRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No more deaths, Master Wayne” Alfred said that night when Bruce flinched, the wet cloth cleaning away the blood and mud from his sore muscles. </p><p> Bruce looked up at him from his spot, his dark eyes drifting between the man sprawled across his couch and his butler. “No more deaths, Alfred” </p><p> </p><p>||: Or, three times Bruce Wayne saw dead in front of his eyes and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three times Bruce knocked on Death’s door and one time Death returned the favor.

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw BvS for the second time today... and I had to write this down.  
> First off; I don't get the bad critics. Like, c'mon, fairly the best superhero movie of the year.  
> Second; I needed to write some paranoid Bruce... because I like him suffering, but I want him happy in the end.  
> Third; I don't follow the movie timeline... I had to change a few things to punch my plot in there. So, Doomsday doesn't appear and well, you will see.  
> Fourth; No kissing or sexing up the guys. This story is one of the few that doesn't contain smut, only Puppy!Clark overload and cuddling. Sorry if you were looking for that one.  
> FIFTH; This is based off in the movie! I don't get into comic stuff or deeper... meanings? SO, BE AWARE. (Spoilers of the movie, perhaps, as well)
> 
> Now, thanks for reading!  
> PS: English is not my native language, so any mistake you might and will find is completely mine. Feel free to point it out. Though, I will make a check-up tomorrow when I'm more awake to change what I can find xD
> 
> Thanks again :)

**1.**

 

 _‘The world meets Superman’_ day _…_

Or how Bruce called it: _the day he lost countless lives_. The day a whole building came down and through ashes and mud, he watched kids lost their parents. He had to look into people’s eyes and share their grief. Those had been employees, _friends_ … close friends he had shared a smile or two. Since that day, Bruce Wayne had seen _what_ lurked _their_ sky, what flew through it like a deadly thunder. It was impossible to deny the paranoia, the slight feeling that he was losing himself. He was losing a battle. But what could he do? The need to protect, to _avenge_ … it all settled down in his head faster than he would originally expected. But why? Call it his weakness or strength… he just knew he had a job to do.

 The next days were a rollercoaster for him.

 He had to dress each day with _suit-and-tie protocol_ , as Alfred liked to call it; for obvious reasons, Bruce Wayne – as the leader of the fallen ones – felt responsible for the funerals of his people and each day, he went through loads of paperwork, signing here and there with his unique handwriting. Alfred kept an eye on him each minute of every hour, occasionally sliding a glass of orange juice or a sandwich cut in half beside Bruce. Of course, he usually said a word or two, only to let Bruce know that he was still there. He was going nowhere.

 That was the magic of Alfred. He had been with and _for_ Bruce since that terrible accident all those years ago. He had seen that kid grow up to be a hero. A hero that, sometimes, needed some help from a mere mortal like himself. When Bruce had been scared all those nights, curled in a ball like any nine-years old boy scared of every shadow, Alfred had been there with a gentle smile hovering over Bruce’s door like a mother hen; in the mornings, Alfred would pretend nothing had happened and Bruce would appreciate the effort. Then, when Bruce began with all his wanna-be hero stuff, Alfred had been there as well. Maybe to scowl or scrunch his nose in disapproval, but he had always been there at the end, stitching up Bruce and taking care of his wounds. It was like a switch Alfred could not – for the life of him – turn off.

 So, his company meant a lot for Bruce, even if he said nothing about it. Not even a _thank you_. Alfred had learnt through the years to take the little smiles or even the softened eyes as gratitude.

 One week later, Bruce stood in front of the mirror. The black suit felt a little too hot against his skin, making it itch, but he tried to distract himself with choosing the right tie. At the end, as he climbed into the Camaro with a red-wine colored tie, he decided color would not matter where he was going.

 The people around him were dressed in black. Black dresses and black shoes. Black gloves and black hats. Black cartwheels for the ladies and black fedoras for the gentlemen. It was a grim day, he noticed, perfectly matching the mood of thousands of people standing there.

 Bruce had arranged the whole thing. Same cemetery, different kind of coffins.

 After midnight, as he looked up at the ceiling, he promised to himself that he wouldn’t witness another funeral… not if he could save the people’s lives before they could meet their grave.

 Destiny played him well because, not a couple of months later, he witnessed the second one.

 

 

**2.**

 

  No one told him that arranging a funeral and attending one was not so different. He still had to wear fancy suits and pretend that he was not boiling with rage; the only difference being that he had to put no money or time in doing so, he only had to go there and offer court nods and words of feigned courtesy.

 And then, all those dreams were suffocating him, startling him awake each night. They did not make his life any easier.

 Dark circles formed under his eyes and Alfred could have sworn his _Master Wayne_ had more grey hairs now. How many funerals would Bruce had to attend to before Alfred saw one grave with Bruce’s name on it? Alfred had no intentions of witnessing such a thing but god, wasn’t Bruce a stubborn one? He was always looking for his own death, Alfred was sure of it!

 No matter how many times Alfred told him that _Superman_ was not their real enemy, Bruce would only scoff at him and push him aside.

 That explosion had taken thousands of lives. Innocent lives, _again_.

 Maybe it was supposed to give the world a warning about the so-called God. Or maybe it was simply to fuel his rage, his hate towards the responsible one. Bruce was blind with hatred and he knew it, but building a weapon to destroy that _hero_ was enough to make him breathe a little and assure himself that he was doing the right thing. But of course, as many other times, realization slapped Bruce in the face with the force of a rain of bricks in the most inappropriate of times. Alfred had been right all along. All those months suffering and battling nonsense against a force he could not control or _comprehend_. And what did he get? A person he had called ‘monster’ showing what Bruce was lacking at the moment: _humanity_.  

It threw him off edge for a couple of seconds.

 That spear had been so close, so _fucking close_ to pierce the seemingly-tender flesh and then Clark had said “ _Save her, save Martha_ ”. Confusion, sadness, anger, longing, desperation…

 He had been wrong.

 All those months believing that Clark was nothing more than a monster, only watching for what was good for him and his reputation without caring for the collateral damages, for the falls. Superman— _Clark_ was just a man. A man with feelings and needs. Needs such as Bruce’s. And Bruce hadn’t noticed before, he had been so blind with his own needs that he had forgotten what being a hero was. It meant risking lives to save more, it was bearing with the pain, with the _nightmares_. It was becoming a sight for hope, someone who could go and attend those cries for help. It meant loving the people around you and doing your best to protect them, do the _necessary_ to keep them safe. Clark had been doing that all along whilst Bruce had been weaponizing green rocks to destroy him.

 “No more deaths, Master Wayne” Alfred said that night when Bruce flinched, the wet cloth cleaning away the blood and mud from his sore muscles.

 Bruce looked up at him from his spot, his dark eyes drifting between the man sprawled across his couch and his butler; somehow, Alfred had managed to convince Clark to return with Bruce to the house. He had said it was a matter of keeping the new team together and work as one to get back Martha Kent – turns out Luthor had taken her away before either one of them could do something – but Bruce was fifty percent sure Alfred only wanted to give him one of his _I told you so_ looks. Not like Bruce minded it one bit… at least he could get to know the prodigy now that he had him under his rooftop. Sighing, he only mumbled “No more deaths, Alfred”

 

 

**3.**

 

 Bruce could not comprehend why life decided to be a bitch sometimes. Mostly when he began to think everything would be great for them all… then, life arrived with its voracious teeth to gnaw at his life. Again.

 The following days were spent doing research and _following Bruce around_. The man could feel his two shadows following him everywhere and soon enough, the only time he felt truly alone was when he took time to go to the bathroom. Aside from that, he always had Alfred and Clark tailoring his feet like a pair of puppies. At the beginning, it bothered Bruce to no end; mostly because _fuck_ , they were stepping into personal space and Bruce felt caged. Then, with the passing of the hours, he learnt several things: one, he had to be careful when he took a step back, he could bump against Clark’s chest; two, he could not curse out loud because Alfred would send him one look that obviously said ‘no cursing in front of the kid’; and three, no matter how much he desired to hate Clark, the man was warming up to the alien. And what an irony that was.

 Clark was the kind of man to tilt his head to the side whenever Bruce spoke about the machinery and weapons he had all over the place; according to Clark, that kind of things had been one of the few things he had never seen before. Not like Bruce could blame him, the Batman barely allowed people to know the weapons he used, it gave him advantages against the police who usually followed him around like if he were the bad guy in the story.

 Then, at nights, when Alfred excused himself, Clark always stayed with Bruce. Bruce was sure Alfred was behind it all… probably telling Clark that Bruce needed company. But again, it was something he allowed to happen because the small chats always brought certain kind of peace whilst he worked through locked documents or footage. Soon enough, Bruce got used to the man’s company. It was becoming a routine to bark one second and joke around the next one. But, if someone ever told Bruce that he was becoming a softie for Clark, he would forthrightly deny it with a growl.

 “I think I found something”

 “Last time you said that—”

 “No, this is important. I swear” Bruce rolled his eyes and turned around to face Clark, who was holding a pad against his chest with those blue eyes framed by big, black spectacles. Bruce was _sure_ Clark did not need them, but he refused to acknowledge the fact that he knew more about Clark than he’d have liked. Clark continued, “Alfred and I have been decoding some information from LexCorp’s files… we could not find more about the—uh, other humans, but we found some disturbing footages of Luthor playing with dangerous things. He, uh, he wants to create something really dangerous, Bruce”

 “’Alfred and I’? Since _when_ are you two working together?”

 Clark seemed a little taken aback for the question, but he only shrugged a shoulder and answered “We thought you might need help… and whilst you worked in other files, we covered this side of the story. And my mom’s one too.”

 “This is not a fucking game, Kent. This is not Daily Planet, you can’t go snooping around—”

 “Do you want the help or not?”

 There was a time when Bruce could have been amused with the sudden anger in Clark’s eyes, but at the moment, Bruce found himself looking down to the ground and chewing on his lip. Well, something was for sure, Clark was not a useless man, he was actually quite… productive.

 “Alright. What have you got, kid?”

 Clark’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but at the end, he only sighed and said, “No traces of Luthor or Martha anywhere… and Alfred began to work in the devices Lex has used in the past months. Just to see if any of them remains in use and in any case there is, we will use that to track it down. To see where it leads us. But that was not the point—” Bruce could actually see the incredulity cloud those eyes before he continued, “the point is, we found out that Lex requested permissions to enter the ship and a stray document also reported that he was granted permission to play around with Zod’s body.”

 “Who the hell gave him permission to do that?”

 “Is it important _or_ relevant right now?”

 Bruce scoffed at him as he tossed the papers he had been reading to the couch. “Not really… but this doesn’t smell good”

 “Does anything?”

 Bruce had to agree with the alien.

 

.

 

 A couple of days later, Bruce stood frozen on his spot. Clark was a couple of feet in front of him and Lex was right behind the alien kid. It had all come to _this_ moment… Lex Luthor had played them well.

 “You see, guys, I knew you wouldn’t do it… I knew soft-hearted Clark Kent wouldn’t be able to kill Batman. And you—” he pointed a finger at Bruce, “you stopped at the last second. Tsk, can’t have that. No can’t do. So, this is your fault, Bruce, I want you to know that”

 His shoulders dropped ever so slightly, brown eyes tried to seek those blue ones repeatedly, but Clark had his head hung low. The only thing he could see were those curls falling onto Clark’s forehead and gluing against it with the pouring rain.

 For the first time for a couple of months – even _years_ – Bruce was afraid. Maybe he was not afraid of dying, not really, but he was afraid of… of what exactly? He did not know, but he was sure it had to be for the fact that Clark was not responding just yet. Then, he did.

 Sadly enough, to Lex Luthor’s command.

 It was simple, Luthor would release Martha Kent once they battled and one came up winning. Bruce had no idea what was the point of this all; Luthor had threatened them multiple times, saying that he had a back-up plan. And obviously, Clark only wanted his mom to be free. To be alive.

 Bruce did not blame him, not even when a fist collided with the side of his head and made him stumble to the ground. Last time he had battled Superman, Bruce had been wearing the heavier suit and now, he was only wearing the normal one. Black here and there and certain spots with reinforced material. It was not enough to protect him against the iron blows.

 Under the rain, Bruce could see the stripes of blood swirling away through the mud with each hit Clark sent his way. Surely, that would leave a bruise. Or many.

 At some point, Bruce stopped resisting and instead of doing that, he only stayed right where he was under Clark’s body and squinted eyes trying to look up at the man. He felt muscles complaining, not to mention the fact that he felt weakened. Probably for the loss of blood. Lex was nowhere to be seen, but Bruce was sure he had to be somewhere. After all, he had to make sure the deal was done, right? He would not leave it to luck.

 “I’m sorry, Bruce… I had to make it believable” Clark said, a little smile following that pained expression. But why was he in pain? Bruce had been the one receiving the hits. “Please, take care of her…”

 And then, it was over.

 Clark pushed him away, sending one bruised Bruce a couple of feet away and irrevocably making him collide with a hard wall. Bruce was way too weak, too dizzy… but he recognized the sound of a helicopter. No, scratch that, it was _not_ a helicopter, it was _his_ aircraft. Before he could even comprehend why the plane was there, he heard Alfred’s voice through the earpiece, mumbling something to Clark, or was it for him? He had no idea, but not a couple of seconds later, the green spear appeared through one of the canyons of the aircraft. It all made sense in that moment.

 Bruce tried to stop it. He yelled at Clark. The farm boy did not move.

 He only watched in sheer terror how the spear went through Clark’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Blue eyes closed slowly, pale skin seemed to turn off of its usual light. And Clark was gone.

 “Oh, look at that! He sacrificed himself so his mother could live… and he used you!” Luthor exclaimed shortly, though, Bruce noticed the sly smirk tugging at his lips. It was done, what he had wanted all along… it was done. “I don’t know why I felt worse about. The fact that he used you or the fact that he believed that it would be over so soon”

  _Call it his weakness or strength… he just knew he had a job to do._

 That night, as he fell down on the bed and buried his face against his pillow, Bruce decided he wouldn’t give up yet. The world had lost a hero, but Batman was still there, wasn’t he? He would make the right things.

 “No more deaths, kid” He mumbled right before he passed out for exhaustion. He was becoming way too old to deal with this kind of shit.

 

 

  **+1.**

 

  He stood in the middle of the court, hands folded behind his back as he faced the judges. His tie felt too tight, his suit too constricting… and worse of all? He did not have his mask. He had been forced to remove it. To show himself as the true identity. The world would never understand what had happened that night. They would not understand how he felt, how guilty. They only knew how they felt, they were crying for their lost hero and the one to blame? Well, he stood right there, ready for them to bite on.

 “How do you declare yourself?”

 “Guilty”

 “Was or was not your weapon the one who killed Superman?”

 “It was”

 “Then, are you declaring yourself guilty of the death of Clark Kent? Most known as Superman?”

 “Yes”

 The woman shook his head with a scowl on her face and Bruce could not bear to look at her, so he looked down.

 He shared their pain but in a different level. They would never understand how he felt in that moment; the sight of Clark dying under his spear would never go away. Green piercing blue and red to create even more red. It was not something he would be forgetting anytime soon.

 “Alfred Pennyworth, does your charges explicitly say that you saw this man killing Superman?”

 “Yes” Bruce flinched. “Yes, I saw Bruce Wayne murdering Superman with the kryptonite spear”

 “Then, now I declare Bruce Wayne guilty for the murder of Clark Kent. This case is closed and the criminal will answer to his crimes!”

 “ _Bruce_!”

 “Bruce!”

 “Bruce! C’mon, wake up!”

 Grunts escaped his mouth.

 “Bruce?” Oh that voice. How many times had he heard it? A little smile appeared on his mouth, but he still refused to open his eyes.

 “Hmh, long time no see, kid”

 “What do you mean?”

 He felt hands against his sweaty forehead, brushing away some locks of hair and combing them backwards. The smooth touch sent shivers down his spine. “Well… I don’t know how many months have passed”

 “From what?”

 “The last nightmare I had of you, of course. Now I can only wonder what you will do next… last time, you strangled me”

 If Bruce would have opened his eyes, he could have seen Clark’s eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Surprise evident on his face.

 “I would never do such a thing”

 “But I deserve it… for killing you and all. You know how people took your death and all”

 He heard a sigh before feeling the bed dipping with an additional weight. The warmth drew him closer and a strong arm wrapped around his middle. Still, he kept his eyes closed. It felt nice. For once, he appreciated the seconds of calmness, he actually enjoyed it. For greater measures, he buried his nose against Clark’s neck, inhaling. If this was about to become a nightmare, he would take advantage of the moment, mind.

 “What are you doing here?” He asked, voice groggy with sleep.

 “I’m—I’m coming back home”

 “Nice… now, if you’d excuse—”

 “Please open your eyes?”

 Bruce scrunched up his nose. Well, alright, he could do that.

 Dark eyes opened slowly, only to face Clark’s beautiful eyes. Bruce’s body tensed up immediately. “This is not a dream” Stupid of him to say that, but Clark only grinned and shook his head. Well, shit. He had been _cuddling_ Clark Fucking Kent for the last couple of minutes and—“What? How did you—I thought~”

 “I thought you might need help getting your life back together”

 “Cocky as ever, kid”

 “You always liked the moody ones”

 “Shut up”

 “Only if we can keep cuddling”

 “You’re a pain in the ass” He stopped dramatically, eyes rolling to the back of his head and head falling back down onto the pillow, just this once, with Clark’s jaw on top of his head “I’m glad you came home”

 “Me too”


End file.
